Ashes of Andromeda (The Last Archide Book 3)

by Chad R. Odom

  Celeste leaned back against him. The gentle sound of his heartbeat in her ears lulled her swiftly into complete peace. She had waited a long time for this, but even longer for what the morning held. Oryan’s world was changing again and she knew he was up to the task. His strength made her strong, even when life and miles separated them. She belonged to him and so he belonged to her.

  She closed her eyes and slept soundly in Oryan’s arms

  ***

  Celeste awoke in very much the same position she had fallen asleep in. Oryan had not moved, though his eyes were already open, greeting the sun as it rose. From their vantage point, they could watch the world unfold. The shadows shrunk as the light chased them from behind rocks. The harsh terrain held its own beauty this early in the morning. Bright yellow and blue flowers that opened their petals almost exclusively at night remained open to catch their small glimpse of the sun. It reminded her of him. As the sun broke on him, it brought renewal to the careworn scars of his past. Whatever yesterday had been for him, today brought the promise of a new life to come.

  “Good morning,” she yawned as she stretched her arms high in the air. “How are you feeling?”

  Oryan wore a distant look on his face.

  “Did you sleep at all?” she asked before he could answer her first question.

  He shook his head. “It’s okay, though. I’ve just been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “There was this soldier when I was with the Knights. He was in another special forces group but wanted to be with the Knights badly. Thomas saw a lot of promise in him, so we pulled him up for a screening test. It was running, strength, endurance, sleep deprivation, things along those lines. Brutal stuff but weeded out weaker candidates.”

  “Did he make it?” Celeste asked.

  Oryan shook his head. “No, but he took the rejection hard. If you failed, you had to wait six months to try again. He was so desperate to try again, he forged documents and tried to get in under a fake name.”

  “Woah.” Her eyes widened.

  “That’s a court-martial offense. I happened to be on base when Thomas found out. I looked over this soldier, his family, his record—he was a great man who just wanted to be the best possible version of himself he could be. How can I fault him for that?

  “I told Thomas to tell him we knew who he really was and to go back to his original post. If he did that, the commander-me wouldn’t press charges.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Oryan shrugged. “I don’t know. I went back into the field and Thomas never told me.”

  Celeste nodded. “Why has he been on your mind?”

  “When I decided to let him off, I was hoping it would give him a fresh start, you know? Hit the reset switch. Realize you screwed up but that you didn’t have to deal with that mistake in a cell somewhere. I hope I did the right thing, and I hope he made the most of a bad situation.

  “That makes me think of us. How things have played out. Getting from where we were to where we are. That kind of thing.”

  “We didn’t start this relationship the right way did we?” she asked somewhat rhetorically.

  “No,” he replied, “but I don’t think it could’ve gone any other way.”

  “I think there’s really only two kinds of moments in life: teaching moments and learning moments,” Celeste spoke revealing the deep wisdom she possessed.

  “Some moments do both at the same time,” Oryan added.

  “I think both kinds are like fire,” she said, gazing into the distance as if she was speaking as much to herself as him.

  “To me, the good moments burn less than the bad, but it’s the bad ones that really define us. The bad ones are painful and burn, but once we face them and…learn from them...we find that we’re better for it.”

  Oryan remembered his youth. “When my dad and I worked together in the Quarter, we would get metals that were in a very raw form. The first thing we had to do was get rid of the imperfections.

  “As the metal heated up, we found the dirt and the junk. It was a layer of dark looking stuff lying on top of the metal. We would skim it off, let the metal cool, and then do it again. The more we did it, the purer the metal.

  “It was hot, gritty work but, as he always did, my father used it as a teaching tool. He used to ask me: What makes a diamond? I had no idea what a diamond even was until he described one but he made me repeat the answer all the time: To be a perfect man takes more than just desire. What makes a rock a diamond is stress and fire.”

  Celeste smiled. She wished she could have met the man that seemed to profoundly influence everyone he came in contact with. “I like that. What else did he tell you?”

  “He taught me that the journey was worth more than the destination and that anything worth doing was worth doing right.”

  “What does that mean to you?”

  “It means that I can’t sit still. It means that every day, I’ll find something new to love about you because you are the greatest journey I’ll ever take.”

  “Since when did you become a romantic?” she mocked him with a smirk. He gave her a sideways glance, and she playfully slapped his knee. “I didn’t say stop!”

  He rolled his eyes. “It also means that there’s a right way to do this even though I don’t know exactly what that is. My dad told me stories of courting my mom, but they were hard lessons to someone with no frame of reference. The ones I can still remember make a whole lot more sense now. Part of me wishes I could start over with you.”

  Celeste moved to Oryan and laid her head in his lap. “I wouldn’t change a thing. If I changed even one detail, we wouldn’t be here. You need to meet Eldar.”

  ***

  Oryan knelt in front of Eldar with Celeste at his side. They were both in pristinely white garments accented by shades of blue and green. In addition to the dress, Celeste wore a crown of beautifully woven flowers through her hair; a last-minute touch by Eldar.

  Eldar spoke to them of the importance of their bond. He emphasized many times the longevity of it and of the diligence they both must exert in order to keep the bond strong. Though they both listened carefully, they would never recall the actual words. What they could recall, what was real, was the power that was there.

  They raised their clasped hands and Eldar wrapped a wide silk ribbon around them as a symbol of the bond and to complete the ceremony.

  There was a gentle, yet firm sound in his voice. “This bond extends beyond just husband and wife. If it is protected and cherished, it binds your entire family for generations to come.”

  The couple embraced each other. Eldar watched for only a few moments before he interrupted the scene. “Oryan.” He stepped a few paces away from them. “I’ve been saving something for you. It’s more ceremonial these days than it is practical, but it’s been in your family for a long time.”

  He retrieved a sword from nearby, removed it from its sheath, and handed it to Oryan. The blade was decorated with characters Oryan recognized from his time with Sicari. The grip was also richly decorated with various letters and symbols. Eldar handed it to Oryan, and he noticed how light it was.

  “It’s made of a metal whose secret rests only with the Archides themselves. It can cut through any known element save itself. It was made for the first of the Arkons and it has been passed down from person to person until it came to your father and now to you.”

  When the ceremony was complete, Celeste and Oryan headed to the camp. They traversed through the streets, with many an onlooker stopping to pay the couple a longer inspection. They gathered some food from various vendors, and Oryan noted how sweet the fruit was and how filling the bread felt in his stomach. It didn’t take much for both of them to feel completely content.

  Celeste was taking Oryan somewhere he hadn’t been. She said nothing to him, but slowed to a stop outside one of the homes. She smiled slightly but there was an anxious tone in her body language. She stood close to him holding hands, face-to-
face, but did not make eye contact. Finally, her brown eyes met his blue ones. Tears had already started to form at the rim. Her hands trembled, and her chest rose and fell deeply. “I have to show you something.”

  Celeste rose on her toes, kissed him on the cheek and gently opened the door to her home. She stepped inside and Oryan followed, ducking slightly at the low entrance. Despite its outward appearance, the home was spacious. The interior was the same tan color as the exterior. It was not decorative, but there were soft chairs to sit on and a small table between them. A single book was on it, though Oryan could not read the title.

  He looked at her, happy that Sicari and the others had taken such good care of her in his absence. She peered anxiously into the small entrance that led to the other rooms in the domicile. Oryan joined her gaze but saw only a dimly lit opening. He looked back at her.

  “Mommy?” a tiny voice called from the distance.

  Oryan’s mouth fell open; his eyes were wide. He could feel his heart pound as if it would break through his chest. Answers fell into place from the night before but then were replaced by dozens more questions.

  “Mommy, you home?” A small child appeared from the back room. He was tall for his age, as he could not be more than four or five years old. The boy looked at the stranger behind his deep blue eyes. Shoulder length, neat white hair fell from his head.

  Oryan felt his knees buckle. He could feel Celeste looking at him, gauging his reaction, but he could not look away from the cherub of a child. Another woman came up behind the boy. Even she stopped when she saw Oryan standing in the doorway. A gentle smile crossed her lips.

  Oryan could not move, nor could he speak. He was frozen, not knowing what to do. For some time, he forgot to breathe.

  The boy cocked his head, studying Oryan’s features and with child-like recognition said one word:

  “Daddy?”

  The Makers of Chaos

  “Why are we here? He’s never late,” Therion grumbled.

  “He’s also never told us to meet like this,” Lykas replied.

  It was a dark room, large and round but dimly lit. There was only one set of doors, which sealed from the inside only. To anyone on the outside, it would appear as if there was no entrance.

  Inset into the table at each chair was a viewing screen and a series of control panels only visible when the correct user placed his palm on them. The only light came from a small overhead fixture, which cast deep shadows and made the blacks, browns, and reds appear even deeper in hue.

  Therion was initiated by the Agryphim, fifteen short years earlier. His well-kept, brown hair was already blending in with the stubble growing on his face. The name of Damrich, as well as his oath to the dark lord, was tattooed on his face. It arced just above his right eyebrow, traced the line of his eye-socket, then jutted back following his jaw line then down his neck, shoulder, bicep, and forearm, finally ending on his right hand where it dominated the skin on his first finger and thumb. His clothes were custom made. The material used to make them was worth more than most houses. He stared across the table at the other man with envy and hatred.

  Lykas, as he was known, stared right back. He was, in every way, Therion’s opposite. He wore no flashy clothing, though it was still made of fine material both in its look as well as its durability. In addition to keeping the Archides off Damrich’s scent, his appointment was to gather like-minded people to his master, for he had perfected the persuasive and seductive voice of the cause. His dusty boots were a reminder that it was he, not Therion, that did the grunt work.

  “He should be here by now,” murmured Therion.

  Lykas was far more patient. “He’ll come,” Lykas replied, masking the doubt in his voice.

  “What if he doesn’t?” asked Therion, leaning forward and eyeing Lykas closely. He knew Lykas was fiercely loyal to Damrich. Lykas was the longest surviving Agryphim. “What if he’s been compromised? What if the Arkons have him?”

  “Not possible,” Lykas dismissed him outright.

  “Does it ever keep you up at night?” Therion countered. “Knowing he’s out there but never knowing where he is? Do you ever think you’ll go to bed one night, and he’ll cut your throat while you sleep?”

  “No. Do you worry about that?”

  Therion sat back with a wry smile. “No. I dream about the time when I’m the one who slits your throat.”

  “I wonder, Counselor, if you actually wanted to, could you even find me?”

  Therion sneered. Throwing his other identity around was a way to remind him Lykas knew more about Therion than the reverse. “I’ve known a lot of men like you. They all think they’ve got the perfect hiding spot. It’s a shame none of them are still alive to tell you where they hid.”

  Lykas shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Does this work for you? Are there actually people out there intimidated by this?”

  “Only the smart ones,” Therion let a dark smile cross his face.

  “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘the loudest one in the room is the weakest one in the room?” the deep voice of Damrich boomed from some speakers.

  Therion swallowed hard. His words could prove to be a fatal mistake. Across the table, Lykas smiled at his counterpart’s plight. It was vindicating to watch him squirm.

  “Who you are outside of these walls means nothing,” Damrich harshly reminded Therion. “Forgetting that has cost you in the past. I wouldn’t recommend a repeat of that breach.”

  There was a palpable silence. Outwardly, Therion did little more than grit his teeth, but he was fuming. If this were anywhere else in the world, he would be shown more respect. But here, he was the small fish.

  Damrich continued. “I asked you here to warn you, and I asked you here like this so you understood the gravity of the situation. The Archides are on the move. As of now, I’m not sure who they’re after yet, but I know they’re recruiting.”

  “They don’t have the strength to defend themselves,” Therion was quick to state.

  Lykas was even quicker to refute. “You’re talking about things you’re completely ignorant of. We’re just as vulnerable as they are. Now is not the time for rash or careless action.”

  Therion shot a condescending glare at Lykas.

  “The Archides have always hunted us. Why is now any different?” questioned Therion.

  “Their last Arkon, whoever he was, went rogue,” Damrich answered. “Even my informant wasn’t sure of his movements. All I know is he was closing in on us. Just because we haven’t been able to identify any recent breaches, doesn’t mean he’s not still out there just waiting for us to make a critical move. Remember, failure at this juncture means we lose any hope of rebuilding my empire and your places in it. Now is not the time to let our ego, our arrogance, or our comfort, blind us from that truth. We can still lose.”

  There was a click and then a silence. The two men looked down at the table contemplating the words. To their knowledge, Damrich had never spoken of anything except the inevitable victory. The thought that they might lose despite their vast influence and great power was nearly unfathomable.

  Therion was in control of a vast network of various businesses and enterprises that were all very profitable. From behind the scenes, he dictated the flow of trillions of dollars while almost single-handedly running the World-wide Black Market. Another identity of his kept the world’s political eyes off the Market, off Damrich’s movements and off him.

  With their influence so widely felt and their position so strong, what reason did Damrich have to be worried? Therion learned as a boy on the streets: there are two kinds of players. The ones who play to win and the ones who play not to lose. Those who play not to lose are destined to do just that. The fall was coming for Damrich, and Therion knew who would be there to pick up the pieces.

  Therion stood from his chair, straightened his clothes, and moved for the door. He made small strides trying not to make too hasty of an exit.

  Lykas, who had only barely noticed
Therion’s attempt at departure, spoke. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re mistaken,” he said calmly.

  Therion stopped. That man was far too good at reading his demeanor. He might be losing his fear of Damrich, but Lykas was something else. He loathed Lykas, but only because he could never read him.

  Lykas, however, had plenty of leverage on him. “Whatever I’m thinking is none of your business,” Therion snapped.

  “Maybe not,” Lykas rose from his seat to face his counterpart. “I know you’re sort of new to this calling in life, but you’d be wise to remember he won’t tolerate competition for your obedience.”

  His shoulders rolled back as he stuck out his chest. Therion was getting more than annoyed. “If there’s anyone in this room who needs to be reminded of their standing with him, it’s you. I control the largest empire in the world and no one even knows it. What is it you bring to the table?”

  Lykas lightly chuckled. “There’s so much you don’t see. You control what you do because he allows it. You stray even a little, you do anything to rouse suspicion, he will bury you and your empire where no one will ever find what’s left of your body.”

  “If I’m so replaceable, so are you. Yeah, you know me, I have to live with that. Do you really think I haven’t done my homework on you? If anything happens to me, you go down too,” Therion lied, grasping at straws.

  Therion made his way to the door, which could not open fast enough. Just when he thought he was free and that the insect behind him was gone, it buzzed in his ear one last time.

  “Oh, and Therion!” shouted Lykas.

  He turned again to face Lykas who strode toward him. When the two men were inches apart, Lykas placed a small handkerchief inside the pocket of Therion’s suit coat, and then gently smoothed the jacket back into its original position.

  “You might need this,” he said with a cunning smile in his voice. “You’re sweating.”

  Therion glared, feeling the small beads of sweat on his forehead as if they were great torrents of water. He searched for the right crushing words but could not find them. He wanted to squash this little flea, but knew Lykas had powerful friends, not the least of them being Damrich. Short, ragged breaths left his nostrils, and the hair on his neck bristled. Hatred brimmed. He turned abruptly and left.